


can't think of a better way to end the day

by heartequals (savvygambols)



Category: Bandom
Genre: Community: drawn_to, F/M, Fairy Tale Creatures, Gen, Grimm's Fairytales, M/M, Tangential Katy Perry/Travic McCoy, Warped Tour 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-07
Updated: 2008-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvygambols/pseuds/heartequals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warped. It's batshit crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't think of a better way to end the day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [airgiodslv](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=airgiodslv).



> This is a fic for [info]airgiodSLV for the [info]drawn_to holiday fic exchange. [info]airgiodSLV, if you weren't aware, is the goddamn batman. Big big big thanks to [info]hatoyona for being supportive and there, from the very beginning. And using microsoft word's copy-editting thing for the beta! That was so cool. Title from "463" by Buck 65. Sorry to the following people: Andrew McMahon, The Brothers Grimm, Ireland. Katy Perry - you got off really damn lucky.

"You're doing Warped?" demands Gabe.

"Yes, we're doing Warped," says William. "Which you know, as you have already spoken to Butcher, and possibly Siska, and certainly Pete, and of course Travis, who was– "

"Say it again," says Gabe, because he's a pushy bastard. "Say it."

"We're doing Warped," says William.

"That's right," says Gabe.

There is a silence, during which William worries about a number of things. Warped, the new album, the new album against the rest of the label's new albums, and the existence of rats in his apartment. The last one presses above all the others, except Warped. He'd had people over to look at his apartment, examine the problem of his diminishing supplies of grain-based products, and improving supply of clothing, especially waistcoats. They'd professed that rats could not be the issue. Perhaps it was mice, then, mice with tiny paws with tiny needles. Perhaps his questions about rodents had not been broad enough.

"Say it again," says Gabe.

"Rats?" says William, confused.

"No," says Gabe. "What are you doing this summer?"

"I'm doing Warped," says William.

"Warped, with the Cobra Starship, and the Gym Class Heroes– "

"– and We the Kings – "

"– Katy Perry, Jeffree Star– "

"Jack's Mannequin– " William sighs.

"Oh shit, Bill, I thought you were over him." He can hear Gabe frowning.

"I will never, ever be over Andrew McMahon," says William with what he hopes is both a necessary and an appropriate amount of warning in his voice. "_Never_."

"It's only two weeks, Billvy," says Gabe. "Two weeks that he'll be on tour with you."

"But what a two weeks it will be."

"Fine," says Gabe. "I expect not to see you for those two weeks. That's fine! Fine." He pauses, and William hears him exhale. William smiles. "I gotta tell you man," Gabe continues, "my brocrush on Justin Timberlake is nothing compared to you and Andrew."

"Well, of course," says William. "Andrew actually knows my name, for example."

"Someday," Gabe says sadly.

There is another silence, in which William has time to envision his pyjamas getting embroidered in the night, tiny needles piercing his skin. He shudders.

"Warped tour," says Gabe. He sounds like he's dreaming, some fantastic reign of terror, mischief, and a little bit of mystery. Tours involving Gabe Saporta are usually like that. William remembers when they were young and still in vans and Gabe was in Midtown. There had been a tour of equal parts winter despair and triumph over conquering the Unites States. It had been one of his favorite tours.

But Warped is different: a playground, not just a summer camp. Mostly, he knows, people think of the heat, but William just remembers 2005, a couple of super-soakers filled with red dye, and a week long game of Capture the Sisky, Vampires vs. Humans. He wishes he could share that memory. Vampires had been a theme that summer, largely due to Gerard Way's enthusiasm and Pete Wentz's imagination. The two rarely got along, but when they did, they were dangerous. William had been taken prisoner two hours into the game by Gabe and he was rewarded with the most painful hickey he'd ever received. A bright angry kiss just below his collar, done with little love and some lust, making him, apparently, a vampire. Gabe cackled over him, dancing with his water gun, but then they'd thrown Mikey Way into the make-shift prison (The Rejects' bus) and William doesn't remember much after that. Just a lot of screaming.

"Say it again," says Gabe. Nostalgia and lust are heavy in his words. William is sure that Gabe can remember exactly what went down during all that screaming.

William reminds himself not to pack any clothes he likes. "See you there," he says.

  


  
"Good morning Charlotte," says William.

"Good morning, sir," she says, touching her forehead and then curtseying low, so that the hem of her very short dress touches the ground. Her eyes are bowed, but her back is straight and firm. William smiles, and tugs on the hem of his vest. It used to be his favorite hoodie.

He's pretty sure that the rats have followed him to Warped.

"You look lovely," he says. She does. "Is that a sword?"

Charlotte touches the sheath tucked into the belt around her waist. "'Tis but a knife, sir. I am much too small to carry a sword."

"And too much a lady," says William. "Not that ladies can't carry swords." Charlotte frowns. He shakes his head. "Awesome. Hey, so. Butcher-"

"Do not talk me about that fiend," she says. "He is the reason I carry this knife with me. A thousand poxes upon all his generations, I have said, and I shall say no more to him."

"Oh, uh," says William. "I guess he's spoken to you about modeling for our album. Oh, no, Charlotte! Maybe he didn't explain it clearly, that we wanted a male and a female character for the cover? For the, um, symbolism. And since we're going to have to do the shoot in an off day, we thought we'd rather have a friend than a random model and-"

Charlotte has her knife out and she presses it against his throat before he even gets to the point of what he was trying to say. She backs him up against the front of a parked van and hisses at him between her teeth, her free hand knuckled against his heart. "I know your secrets, William Beckett and I know what you mean to make of me."

"No," says William, breathless.

"I am not some local girl for you to use at your leisure and discard like an empty coinbag," she says. She pushes her fist into his ribs. "To make that mistake would end you." She leans closer. He tilts his head back. "I believe your cause is noble but to think that I might take up with your men like any kind of harlot shows want of character." She leans even closer. "You shall heal no hearts with such mistakes. Do you not know to whom you ask of such an indecency?"

He breathes, shallow and insufficient for the roaring in his veins. "Charlotte Sometimes?"

She smirks and releases him. "If another member of your band attempts to hold court with me, I shall kill him," she says.

"Y-yes," he says, touching his throat. "I'm so sorry, Charlotte." She doesn't seem to have broken skin, but he might have a bruise. She should really get that knife sharpened, if she's going to try to kill anyone.

"Thank you, sir," she says. "See you around."

He watches her saunter off into the distance, tossing her knife with the frightening confidence that comes of practice. Then he turns and hurries to the nearest friendly bus, the Cobra bus, where Gabe sits like a king upon a throne of pillows, blankets, and Nate.

"Bill!" shouts Gabe, like he always does. He waves a spoon at William.

William, without any thought to what's right and what's decent, climbs on top of the pillows, blankets, and Nate, and sits right next to Gabe, desperate for contact. "Charlotte Sometimes just tried to kill me," he mumbles, putting his head into his hands.

"Yeah," says Nate. "She's been like that lately."

Gabe slings an arm around William. "Women," he intones, and takes a huge spoonful of cereal.

William rests his head against Gabe's temple. "Warped," he says softly.

  


  


William wakes up unsettled.

Warped is. . .he has tried many times to put the event, the emotion, the adjective into a phrase that could be used for the chorus in the most important song he might ever write, but it continues to elude him. It haunts his dreams in late September, when he gets that itch to categorize, to define and share.

He wakes up unsettled in the middle of July. He thinks at first that it is a misplaced September unsettled, nostalgia for an event that has not yet occurred. But he takes a deep breath and realises it's a much more sinister unsettled; not a late-June, two-days-before-Andrew-McMahon unsettled, but a darker, quieter unsettlement. It feels very much like having a transparent mind. Someone else is in his thoughts, understanding his mind better than he ever will.

He rubs at his eyes, pulls back the curtain, and shrieks.

"You're going to rain," says Sisky, peering at him, hunched on his knees beside William. He is shirtless, and has sharpie scribbles all over his chest. No - not scribbles. A perfect replication of The Butcher's chest piece. The bird looks less spiritual on Sisky, like a creature of war and grace, not art.

"Holy fuck," William manages, one hand clutching the bedspread in fright, the other groping for his glasses. The world is unfocused, and Sisky's incredible calm is terrifying in the way that only a boy just out of his teenage years can manage. William sticks a hand under his mattress and comes up with unused condoms, a guitar pick, and a broken fountain pen.

"You're going to rain," says Sisky. "We have seen it." His arms are marked up as well, black and blue renditions of The Butcher's tattoos.

"Adam," says William. His fingers close around his glasses, and he puts them on, peering at Sisky. Sisky has an expression of the extreme age that is found in elderly women, and with a hint of that madness too. "Adam, what the fuck."

Sisky shrugs, an ancient, stiff gesture, and then he rises to his feet and dodders off in the direction of the front lounge. William rolls out of bed, pulls on one of Mike's hoodies, and follows Sisky. He finds him sliding into a cross-legged position next Butcher, who has assumed a face of such superior age that William nearly calls him grandfather.

"The Butcher, Adam," he says. "What are you doing?"

"What we are Doing," says Sisky.

"We are Seeing," replies Butcher. He is shirtless as well. Despite Butcher's beard, and Sisky's scribbled tattoos, and the skinny lines of Sisky's chest against Butcher's marginally more bulky frame, they look exactly the same. Identical twins, or something even closer; they look like two halves of the same human.

William stares at them - he'd never thought Sisky would be one for meditation - and turns around to make coffee. Coffee will bury this unsettled feeling, he's sure of it. To top it all off, Mike's hoodie smells of jasmine. William can't imagine why Mike's hoodie would smell of jasmine. Perhaps it was the rats, turning on his band-mates, after all his things have been decimated. He can only hope. All of his hoodies have long since turned into waistcoats, finely detailed vests, or the occasional, well-embroidered button up. It's not that he doesn't like his new clothes either; they're all beautiful. It's just that he would rather not look like an eighteenth century dandy on a festival that is paid for by a brand of skateboarding shoe.

"We've Seen you," says Sisky.

"Embrace him," says Butcher, in a low, wise voice, "and you will rain forever."

"Sisky?" says William, clapping a hand over his mouth.

They bark a short, hideous laugh and in the same voice, say "No. The king."

"The king?" says William. He frowns, rubs a hand across his temple "I'm voting for Obama."

Butcher shakes his head and Sisky sighs. They do these things with the weight of several centuries. They do these things in tandem, two separate actions for the same person.

"Huh," says William. "I'm going go find Gabe. Wanna come?"

"No, no," murmurs Butcher. "Not I."

"Watch the last step," warns Sisky.

William trips on the last step off the bus and bruises his knees.

  


The sun is only just setting. The various Warped crews are breaking camp, the sounds of the last few bands on stage echo through the amphitheatre, and William has a red plastic cup in one hand, and Andrew McMahon's fingers in the other. Andrew's calling it a social experiment to understand the depth and intensity of homophobia on Warped, but William thinks Andrew just hasn't had enough alcohol yet to remember that this is William and this is _Warped_.

William squeezes his hand with a little smile and Andrew stumbles. William's happy. They navigate the buses, one after another, ducking under mirrors and shouting hello to people leaning out of bus windows, smoking. Warped always seems like the safest at this time of the day, most of the fans and hangers-on having left, and all of the team stretching and yawning before bed, hitting the road, or drinking games. Just enough people are still on stage for any concrete plans to be delayed for another half hour.

"Billy," comes a familiar moan.

William and Andrew walk around the Gym Class bus to find Travis lying on the ground in front of the wheel on a towel. Disashi and his girlfriend are curled up together on a lawn chair next to him reading Harry Potter. No, not Harry Potter. Harry Potter fanfiction.

Warped really does do strange things to the mind, even to those minds as stable as Disashi's girlfriend's.

"Billy," says Travis. He woofs a weak breath and makes grasping motions at William. William lets go of Andrew's hand and crouches down to look at Travis. He's ashen, and his eyes are dark. There is sweat on his brow and he looks pained. Like William's mother in the midst of a hot flash, actually.

William, like he did with his mother when he was ten, touches Travie's hand. "My friend," he says, "what's wrong?"

"I'm dying," moans Travis. "Bill, baby, I'm gone." He takes a deep, rattling breath. "I want you to know that I love you. I always have."

William looks at Dishashi. Disashi shrugs. "Man, I told him not to eat all that raw meat this morning. Did he listen? No."

"Eric was gonna make stew," says his girlfriend sadly. She turns the page and William catches a glimpse of a naked Sirius Black. He blinks.

"You know Travis," says Disashi. He shrugs again. "Dramatic motherfucker."

"I fucking love you biblically," says Travis. He pants, tongue lolling out. "I'm going to kill Gabe for your hand."

"There's no need for that," says William. "You've got Katy now. Her hands are much better than mine." He brushes a thumb over Travie's knuckles that somehow look sharp in the fading light.

"I'll do it," vows Travis. "And I'll kill Andrew too." He whines a little.

"Whoa," says Andrew. "Uh, yeah. I'm gonna go." He smiles. "See you guys later."

William turns to wave at him, and when he turns back to Travis, there is a faintly predatory look on Travie's face. His eyes are dark, his skin is tight, and his teeth are sharp.

"Here we go," sighs Disashi. "Baby, get on the bus. William, you better get out of here."

Travis growls, and shakes his head. Was he always that hairy? William doesn't know.

Disashi folds up his lawn chair and steps onto the bus after his girlfriend. He pauses. "William," he says again. "Run."

Travis shudders all over and screams like a man consumed. William runs. When he looks back, he sees only a dog with its head raised at the full moon, howling.

The closer bus is the Cobra bus, and probably the safer one too. He throws himself onboard and shuts the door. Only Gabe is around, butter knife in hand, and he looks at William with one eyebrow raised. "Didn't expect to see you for another week," he says. "Where's the boyfriend?"

"Fuck," says William, hand pressed against his throat, breathing hard. "Hide, Gabe, hide."

"It's too early and I'm too sober for hide and go seek," says Gabe. "You want half of this sandwich?"

A dog slams against the window pane. William tackles Gabe and crouches over him, tense. Gabe clutches the knife. "What the fuck was that?"

There is barking outside, nasty wet sounds. "That was Travis," whispers William. "I think he's a werewolf."

"No shit?" says Gabe. "He never told me." He looks offended. William stands up and looks out the window. The dog barks and jumps against the windowpane again. He ducks to the floor, knees on each side of Gabe's chest.

"He suggested to me that he wanted to kill you," says William apologetically.

"Dramatic motherfucker," says Gabe. He shakes his head. "He totally gets it from Katy, I swear to god. Come on."

They crawl to the space between the bunks, where there are no windows, and the air is thick with Alex's cologne, Nate's socks, and Ryland's old records. They sit huddled against each other on the floor and listen to the eerie, half-human barking outside. William is not afraid for himself, but he is afraid for Gabe.

"Aw, nice doggy!" shouts the all-too-familiar voice of Travis Clark. "Hey, here, hey puppy, c'mere!"

"Oh god," says William. He puts his head in his hands. There's a pause, a scream. After five tense minutes, two sets of dog-bodies thump against the sides of the bus.

"Man, they're gonna look like hell tomorrow," remarks Gabe. "You wanna to start a BDSM rumor with me?"

William looks at him. Gabe is serious, clutching his butter knife. He's wearing a bright pink shirt and his head is cocked, listening to the scratching at the side of the bus.

"Alright," William says. He grins. "But only if Travie C. tops."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

  


  


William wakes up in the morning to a sharp metallic smell. There are many things that this could mean, none of which include food. He sighs. He gets out of bed, puts his glasses on, takes Butcher's hoodie, and walks out to the front lounge, wondering what Butcher and Sisky have done now.

It is not Butcher and Sisky. This is not exactly a pleasant surprise, but better than none at all, William supposes. Warped was definitely not this interesting in 2006, at least.

Mike, Michael and Matt, all distinctly green-looking, are peering over a pot on the tiny stove, stirring with a big wooden spoon that has "the academy eats. . ." burned into the side of it. Mike drops a penny into the pot and the three of them cackle with pleasure.

William sits down on the bench, and puts on Butcher's hoodie. It smells of lavender. He closes his eyes and asks, "What are you doing?"

"Gold," giggles Matt. He claps his hands.

"Pots and pots of gold," says Mike, in a crooked voice.

"Oh wondrous preciousful gold," sings Michael. He's wearing a black top hat that he might've stolen off of Katy Perry. He looks quite fetching, if somewhat disturbing.

"Preciousful is not a word, Michael," says William. He picks up a half-empty box of cereal and shakes some into his hand and starts to separate the marshmallows from the sugar coated grains.

"Jealous William," croons Matt. "Would you like some lovely gold coins?"

"A big black pot for Jealous William," echoess Michael. "Hidden under his own rainbow!"

"I don't know," says William. He puts a marshmallow in his mouth. "What'll it cost me?"

"Won't cost you anything," says Mike, peering at him with a little smile, "just your first born child!"

"Jesus Christ," says William, alarmed "Mike!"

"Jealous William!" says Matt and the three of them burst into laughter.

William turns away, and leaves this particular eccentricity up to Tony to judge. He's a fan of gold, sure, but he's not okay with gifting away his unborn children, or with defacing money. And by the sound of the metal in the pot, there are already quite a few gold coins.

Andrew pushes his way on to the bus and says, "Hey, William, Billy, brother, I was just on my way back from yoga with the boys and I saw this dandelion. And I like, I thought of you." He sits down next to William and slings an arm around William's shoulders. The bandage around his arm rubs up against William's neck and William winces, thinking of the Travies and their sharp teeth. "I didn't pick it because, you know, hurt no living thing. You know? But I thought I'd tell you. Also, it's my last day on tour. You want to go get end-of-tour smoothies with me?"

William says, "Of course. How's the bite?"

"Those were some vicious dogs," says Andrew, shaking his head "I'm lucky Katy came in with that baton when she did."

Mike, Michael and Matt are looking at the two of them strangely. William feels a little self-conscious, but Andrew's fully dressed, and William is in his pyjamas and Butcher's hoodie. Mike, Michael, and Matt with their green-tinged skin and bright shining eyes are surely the weirder group.

"Hey," says Andrew. He smiles at them and holds a hand up. "Good morning!"

Matt mumbles something that sounds like a curse. Michael squeals with delight and claps his hands. "Gold!" he sings. "Precious gold!"

"Ooh," says Mike. "Gold!"

Matt grins, looking pleased with himself.

"Oh my god," says Andrew. "Wow. William! I, uh. I don't have any toes."

They look down at his feet in his flip-flops. He has no toes. It's not as if they have been cut off. It's as if they had never been, and Andrew was born with short, rounded flesh, squared away at the ends.

"Golden toes," says Matt. He cackles, bouncing from foot to foot. His toes, William notices, are all present and accounted for. "Precious golden toes."

"We have the most gold," says Mike. He traces the brim of Michael's hat and Michael grins at him, his cheeks flushed. "Haven't we, Chizzy? We have the most gold in all the kingdom. No one has so much gold as we."

Michael stirs the pot, humming. William feels like throwing up. "Guys," he says. "Give Andrew's toes back."

"It's cool-" says Andrew, looking fascinated and frightened by his feet. William slaps a hand over Andrew's mouth. "Guys, give Andrew's toes back."

"But golden toes are ever so precious," says Matt.

Michael smiles to himself. "Jealous William," he sighs, stirring the pot of gold coins and toes.

"Give his toes back now," says William. "Or I'll - or I'll - I'll tell the king to put his men on to you!"

Matt, Mike and Michael gasp.

William doesn't know who the king is. He suspects it's just one of those Warped things. Last year, for example, when little Hayley apparently decided she was the pirate queen, and pillaged over half the buses. Or in 2005, definitely, with the vampire thing. They make up games to save themselves from going crazy, he knows. The fact that the guys from Reel Big Fish were the ones he overheard gossiping about the king and his handmaidens proves it.

"Now," he says, crossing his arms.

Matt grumbles, but he snaps his fingers and there's ten small popping noises. Andrew and William lean over.

Andrew breathes a big sigh of relief and says, "Hey, thanks. I kinda like my feet, you know, just the way they are. My toes, I mean. I appreciate them. And I appreciate having them." He sort of grins that stupid grin, the one that takes no prisoners and asks for forgiveness. Matt, Michael and Mike smile at him, pointed, green grins. He gets to his feet. "It's been real. Billy - meet me at my bus later? Smoothies!"

William nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Andrew wanders off the bus, singing to himself.

Michael, Matt and Mike lose their grins instantly, and glare at him. They raise their hands and point crooked fingers at him.

William gets off the couch, grabs someone's flip-flops, and leaves.

  


  


It's hot and sticky, the middle of July with no relief from the sun except indoors, where it is just as warm. William curses the gas prices that cause them to be frugal, steals a cowboy hat off of someone's merch table, and climbs aboard the Cobra bus where he's heard there might be ice cubes.

It's warmer inside the Cobra bus than outside. Victoria stands in the middle of the front lounge. "Hey VickyT," he says, touching her shoulder.

"Back!" shouts Victoria, shoving a hand against his chest. William stumbles backwards. "Back!"

"Sorry," says William, and he sits down on the couch, and fixes himself a drink from whatever is within reach. Victoria raises her sword. "You evil beast, you tyrant of hope," she shouts into the bunk area. "Plague this bus no more!"

In response to this comes a breath of fire, arcing out from the aisle of bunks. Victoria leaps back, cursing.

"My friend, that is fucked up," says William. He grabs a fire extinguisher, just in case.

"Oh, he is cruel," says Victoria. "He snuck in while Gabe was out and took Alex as a conquest." She tosses her hair. "Luckily I found him before he took me as well."

"Luckily," agrees William. He raises his voice. "Suavez!" he shouts. "You alright?"

"Shh," hisses Victoria.

From the bunks there is a hiss of fire, a weak scream, and a throaty laugh. "Little girl," says the very distinct voice of Ryland, possibly disguised as Guy Ripley, "come and try your hand with me."

"For Alex!" she shouts, stabbing her sword into the air. "For the king!"

He's never seen her like this, with her hair in disarray, her silver dress tarnished and burnt, her cheeks pink and her eyes brighter than the fire she's fighting. He's sure she could lead an entire medieval kingdom. William raises a toast to her strength against the insanity of this tour. Warped. It's batshit crazy.

Victoria charges into the bunks. William sits up and leans over to watch her. The curtains are burnt, smouldering, and she charges right through them, sword aimed at Ryland's heart. Ryland, who is breathing fire, and is much more purple and scaly than William remembers.

"Oh fuck," he says. He stands up, drink in hand. "Victoria! Stop!"

"God save the king!" she screams, full speed ahead. Ryland roars at her.

"By order of the king!" he shouts. "Stop!"

Victoria drops to her knees.

Ryland twists his neck and spits smoke at her bowed head. William points at him, and wonders what the hell he is doing. He doesn't even know the rules of the game. He could get fouled, big time, and that probably means drinking piss, streaking at noon, helping Katy get dressed. God only knows; he's definitely gotta go talk to the guys in Reel Big Fish. They'll know what's going on. "On your knees, beast," he says. "Um, your king commands you. Unhand that, uh, man, and set your captive free."

Ryland drops to his knees as well. Behind him Alex rises, triumphant and off-puttingly glamorous.

"My savior," he croons, stepping around Victoria and Ryland. He wraps his arms around William's neck. William wonders how the hell Alex can survive wearing a full suit in this heat, not to mention the close quarters with a fire-breathing Ryland. The man is not even sweating. "My knight in shining armor."

William can practically hear Victoria's rage. He can definitely feel Ryland's, a hot puff of air against his face. Wary, he takes Alex's hands off his neck.

"Easy," he says. He presses his glass into Alex's hand. There's even a little liquor left in it. "I'm just doing my civic duty."

  


  


Cobra are keeping a frog in their sink. "Kiss me," he croaks.

"Yeah, please do," says Victoria. She is sharpening Charlotte's knife next to the sink. Little sparks keep flying into the water and sizzling. The frog hops every time a spark fizzes in the water near him. He looks unhappy.

"Please," adds Alex. "None of us can change him."

William says, "No," because that is not what he's here for and he's had enough of Cobra being weird at him for the week. First it was Ryland breathing fire, and then, later that evening, it was Gabe and his bottle with a little green fairy on the label. William's still seeing sparkles. He only came here to steal some of Gabe's clothing anyway. All his things have turned into eighteenth century costume, and those few articles of his band's dress that have not also follow suit, smell of roses.

William is allergic to roses, both emotionally and physically. The memory of his last pair of undershorts makes him want to sneeze.

"Aw, come on," says Ryland. He hiccups, and a little burst of smokes comes out. He claps a hand over his mouth, coughing. Victoria hands him a water bottle.

"Glad you two made up," says William.

Victoria makes "hmph," sound and Ryland looks embarrassed. "Yeah, about that. Thanks for saving my life."

"Kiss me!" croaks the frog.

William goes into the back. He knocks at Gabe's bunk. "Gabanti," he says softly. "Are you in there?"

The curtain is wrenched back and Gabe is revealed, in smiling, semi-nude glory. "William!"

William says, "Are you watching Cinderella with no pants on?"

"Yes," says Gabe. Then he blinks. "Wait, is that - are you - for real, bro?" He grins. "My, my, Prince Charming, you look dashing. Does that sleeve have a boar on it?"

"I think." William runs a hand through his hair. "Can I borrow a couple of t-shirts? All of my other clothes have. . .gone missing."

"Will you protect my threads with your life?" asks Gabe.

"I'll try," says William, although he knows it's pointless. It's just a matter of time until the rats get their sewing kits out, once they find some unadorned clothing. Victoria left a dress on their bus overnight and in the morning had been incensed to find it covered in tiny embroidered wildlife scenes with a high collar and several inches added on to the bottom, made out of Sisky's bed sheets.

"Sure," says Gabe. "My stuff's in the back." He rubs his eyes and yawns. "Don't wash anything when you're done, it needs special care."

William raises an eyebrow.

"I enjoy your scent," Gabe says, and yanks the curtain shut.

William takes a couple of Gabe's least favorite shirts, and one of his hoodies, just for comfort's sake.

"Kiss me!" croaks the frog as he passes back through the front, and jumps when Victoria strikes the blade with her rock.

"Do it," she says. "Just shut him the hell up."

"I am not going to kiss a frog," says William.

"Please," begs Alex. He hugs a fire extinguisher to his chest. "We need Nate back."

William rolls his eyes, tucks Gabe's shirts under his arm. He leans over the sink.

"No tongue," he warns Nate.

"Kiss me!" croaks Nate, jumping up and down. Ryland grabs a camera. William kisses Nate on the mouth and stands back.

Nate hops up and down in the sink. "Kiss me! Kiss me!"

"Didn't work," he says, shrugging.

"Fuck," says Victoria. "Can I kill him?"

"Kiss me!"

"No," says Ryland. "Who will play drums with us?"

"Kiss me!"

"Not the frog!"

"Victoria?" Charlotte pushes open the door. William takes a couple of cautionary steps out of her way. "Is Victoria there?"

Victoria waves at her. They embrace. Alex and Ryland leer. William puts on one of Gabe's shirts, leaving his on the floor. "I've come for my knife," Charlotte says, with a blush, when Victoria releases her.

"Of course," says Victoria, also with a slight blush. William heads for the door before Ryland takes them all captive. There's smoke coming out of his ears as it is.

"Kiss me!"demands Nate.

"Oh, fuck off!" shouts Victoria, raising Charlotte's knife. Charlotte stays Victoria's hand. "How sweet!" she says. "Looking for his true love's kiss, right?"

"If he is, it's none of us," says Alex. "Thank god. You try."

"Go on," says Ryland. He winks at Victoria. "It can't possibly be you anyway."

Charlotte kisses Nate.

Nate explodes outwards, far too big and naked for the sink. He has a crown on. Ryland takes another photo.

Victoria looks crushed. "Nate!" she shrieks, knife raised. Nate ducks, putting his arms over his face.

Ryland takes another picture, coughing up laughs of flame. Alex takes his fire extinguisher and douses a small fire on the sofa next to Ryland.

William puts on Gabe's hoodie, and leaves.

  


  


It's a cool, clear night. They've hit August, the final run, the time when everything takes longer, except setting and breaking camp, set times, and hours of sleep in a given twenty-four hour period. William zips up Gabe's hoodie and heads to the small store next to the gas station. It's one of their long hauls, all of their buses trekking overnight to a destination that is a couple hours too close for a hotel night, but too far for an easy evening ride, and he's just glad to stretch his legs before they hit the rough, eight-hour roads. Of course he's done longer rides, and in much smaller vehicles, but it's August. Things that might've been patched mid-July are beginning to fray. The least of which are his jeans, his sixth new pair of jeans this summer that he's managed to save by taping to the bottom of the bus. Even with that, they've worn almost through at the knees and have small pink flowers starting to grow up the seam.

He pushes open the door and walks in to store. It's sleepy and well lit. He supposes he should be grateful that his rats have at least left Gabe's clothing alone; the rest of his band have taken to storing their clothing on other buses and sleeping nude. Well, Michael and Mike, anyway. Sisky and Butcher have communed so totally with the natural force that allows them to predict all the minor trips and falls in William's day that they spend most of their days nude on the bus. Kevin Lyman alone managed to make them wear loincloths if they were in public, and normal clothes on stage, but even Tony agreed that tying them to the bus was probably for their benefit. Seeing them tied to the rearview mirror with ropes around their stomachs had become something of an attraction on the tour. They were so quiet and still too, unless William passed. They always had a word for William, whether it was "Beware The Bronx" and then Matt Caughthran fell on William's head, or "Hide The Whisky" and then William would hide it, and find two hung-over rhythmists with three cheeky words for him: "we Know you."

William can't remember, but he think this year's Warped might be more of a strain on everyone's sanity than their first tour.

He buys two Cokes for them, red that matches their tattoos. He buys a guitar magazine for Michael with a golden guitar on the front, and a bottle of mustard for Mike, also gold colored. He buys a coffee for Tony and walks back out through the gas station to his bus.

"Will," hisses a very familiar female voice.

William turns around. Katy Perry is sitting on the curb. She's smoking with her left hand, and balanced on her knee is a gently pulsing orb. She used to have a right hand, and a left foot, and a liver, for that matter, but Matt took them all for gold. The three men have quite a collection now. An impressive black pot filled with golden souvenirs. William just wishes they would stop taking body parts. He doesn't like finding them under his pillow as presents.

"You can call me Bill," he says.

"Hmm," she says, like she doesn't trust his judgment. She nods at the orb. "Three wishes, Will."

"What?" he says. He sits down next to her, and sets his bag on the ground.

"The guys in 3oh!3 gave it to me," she says. She lets out a long stream of smoke. It has none of the brutality or heat of Ryland's smoke. "They didn't want it. They had a problem with specifics, I dunno." She takes another drag. "You want three wishes?"

They stare at the orb, balanced precariously on her knee.

He's already famous, and so are all of his friends. He's not rich or anything, but he's comfortable. He's a firm believer in letting love run where it likes, and there's nothing he wants to change about himself. Warped has been fine too. He's tired, because it's August and he has none of his own clothing left. But it's fine. He's fine. He's happy, despite it all.

"I don't know," he says. "Not really. Thanks though. What are you going to wish for?"

She puts out the cigarette on the sidewalk. "Maybe that my boyfriend isn't a werewolf."

"That's rough," he says. "I'm sorry."

She shrugs. "Not really. It's kind of exciting. But I guess it'd be nice if only one of us got all crazy once a month."

She's wearing a dress with waves on it, and a small fleet of rubber ducks on her head. William nods. "Absolutely."

She shrugs again, and lights another cigarette. "I don't think I will though. Maybe, like. World peace or something. Or for everyone to happy. Or a really big castle made of candy."

William says, "Sure. Try it."

Over the course of the next eight hours, William finds himself wished out existence, into a peaceful darkness that he doesn't want to leave. Then, he finds himself in the place of his dreams, a place that looks a lot like the set of Panic's "Nine in the Afternoon" video. Just as he's starting to get the hang of playing a piano made out of gumdrops, he's back in his bus, in his bunk, above the quiet rumble of the engine and surrounded by noisy, sleeping band mates. A screech of the brakes lets him know that they've finally arrived.

Those eight hours went by very quickly, he thinks, and falls back asleep.

  


  


Two more weeks. William has the day marked on his phone, and it's going to ring at midnight, wherever he is, and Chris Brown is going to inform him that he's been waiting his whole life, for this one night. William cannot wait. Two weeks.

"Hey guys," he says, coming out into the front lounge. "Anyone want to watch. . ."

The lounge is empty. He could have sworn that Mike and Michael, if not Matt as well, had been counting their gold at the table. Tony, at least, should have been around. He'd had that stressed, two-weeks-left-of-tour look in his eye. He'd have been a good friend for watching a movie.

But the bus is empty. William opens the front door, but there is no one. Sisky and Butcher's ropes hang limp in the twilit sky. He curses. If Kevin finds out that they've escaped again, he's going to throw them off the tour. He can't understand why the two of them, over everyone else on tour, are so troublesome that they'd get the band taken off the tour. They're relatively harmless, just creepy, but he thinks it might have to do something with Sisky "Seeing" Kevin get rick-rolled by the entire tour. An accurate prediction, but actually it had ended up being the entire emo/punk/rock/Charlotte Sometimes concert-going population of Toronto. At least he'd gotten a warning.

The grounds are silent. William is not happy about this. He puts on Gabe's hoodie, and closes the door behind him. There's no noise at all, just the whisper of trash against the ground, getting blown by the wind. No voices, no music, no laughter, just an ineffable stillness.

He checks his watch. He's pretty sure that the last sets haven't ended yet, but maybe something has happened. Maybe someone got hurt. Maybe they've all been evacuated.

William starts walking in the direction of the Cobra bus, when he hears the chanting from behind. He turns around and sees almost the entire tour, and at least half the ticket-holders, with their fists in the air. Some of them have torches. There are a couple of pitchforks. There are even more jagged, splintered drumsticks, broken guitar necks, and bottles with sharp edges.

He stops walking, shocked.

So does the mob.

He starts walking.

So does the mob.

He stops again, and waits.

The mob inches closer, until they are within shouting distance. Tom Delonge is at the forefront with a broken guitar raised high with one hand.

"Witch!" he shouts.

William says, "what the fuck, Tom?"

"Witch!" he shouts, and the chant is taken up by the rest of the crowd. "Witch! Witch! Witch! Witch!"

"What the fuck?" William says, a lot louder. "I am not a witch!"

"Witch!" shouts Tom. "Ye shall be punished for those sins which ye have yet to commit!"

"What sins to be committed?" William says. "What the fuck?" He coughs on his words and the smell of burning drumsticks. "That doesn't make any sense!"

"Witch!" shouts Tom.

"Burn him!" someone in the crowd shouts, the unmistakable voice of the girl who had, six hours earlier, screamed at William to marry her.

William winces. "I am not a witch!" he shouts back.

"Burn the witch! Burn the witch!" They light Tom's guitar on fire, and there is the sound of bottles breaking all around. "Burn the witch!"

William turns, and he runs.

  


  
William runs.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers that he used to do this. Running. For pleasure, in sports. He never ran for fear. What an odd world, he thinks, if he had become an athlete. He's probably too tall now, too gangly, too thoughtful.

He sheds Gabe's hoodie and keeps running.

He runs for fear now, definitely. With the mob following him, screaming for his blood. He can't understand every word, but from the shouted slogans and slurred words, he thinks it might have to do with him as a person, an effect of supposed witchcraft. It's his clear head and quiet mind getting him in trouble this time.

He runs.

The full moon reaches between the clouds and comes out, fully exposed and horrible. William can feel his breath catch, even as he runs. He hears twin screams from each side of the fairground, and then tortured, half-human howling.

"William!" shouts Victoria, and William finds himself yanked to the left. They race between two buses and William trips and almost falls when he sees what his friends have done. The Gym Class, Cobra, and Katy buses are all parked right next to each other, creating a small court.

His friends are all there, tense, ready, hands in fists

He counts. Yes, almost everyone, with the exception of either Travis. There are scared members of We The Kings, a few grim men of Reel Big Fish, all the fierce ladies of Ore Ska Band and serious members of Charlotte Sometimes' band. Some of them have swords. Some of them have broken bottles. Ryland spits out flame, pawing the ground and twisting his neck towards the sky. His scales shine purple and white in the moonlight. Nate bounces up and down next to him.

Everyone looks determined.

There is an air of patience surrounding him that he doesn't understand. He's going to be killed by Tom Delonge with a flaming guitar, and it makes him antsy, shivering in Victoria's grasp. She shakes him. "Get it together. We're going to win."

"Sorry," he says, and looks around again.

He doesn't know what's going on, what, exactly, they are going to win, but he's glad that he's with his friends.

VickyT shoves him between Sisky and Butcher. He stumbles and they each catch an arm. "William," they whisper, excited, pointing. "Your Time has Come. You're going to reign!"

He looks up. Gabe stands on top of the Cobra bus in the middle, arms crossed, frowning. He stands against the sky, sharp lines of tense muscles and anger. He's got a sword at his hip, and all William wants to know is how the hell his jeans are staying up.

"Werewolves coming from the south parking lot," Gabe shouts, suddenly, without moving. "Let them in."

Travis and Travis jump over a bus and land directly in the square, snarling. They bow low before Gabe on the top of his bus. Gabe nods his head. They begin to pace, snarling at no one but their own anxious selves. William risks a glance away from Gabe to look at Katy. She looks lovesick, reaching out to touch the darker-haired werewolf. The ginger werewolf howls.

"William," says Gabe, and William tears his eyes away from Katy and Travis to Gabe. Gabe looks down at him, and winks.

The guys from We The Kings take him by the arm and help him scramble up the side of the bus. William lands on his knees on the roof. Gabe is at his side in an instant.

"William," he says, "are you fucking ready for it."

"Of course," says William, who has no idea what he's ready for, why he's ready for it. It's getting dark, and he's chilly. He should've kept Gabe's hoodie.

"You gonna rule this place with me?" asks Gabe. He puts out a hand to pull William up. "This whole world?"

William stares at him.

"Gabe," he says. He glances down at the ground. Sisky and Butcher look up at him, smiling. They look deranged.

"Come on, Bill," says Gabe. "It'll be fun."

William stands up, and clutches Gabe's hand. "I've heard that from you before," he says, wry.

Gabe gives him a crooked grin, kisses William's hand, and pulls his sword from his sheath. He turns to his court, to the advancing mob. "What kind of fool do you take me for?" he shouts down at the bands, the crew, the managers, the fans, his friends.

Warped Tour roars their answer back at him.

William takes him with both hands and kisses him against the first clash of swords.


End file.
